


textbook situation

by spaace



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Depression, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, Professors, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Will tag as it goes on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26169016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaace/pseuds/spaace
Summary: "every day since audra’s passing is a struggle. now each morning is a heavy weight of grief, waking up to the silence of an empty house weighed down by memories of sixteen perfect years. every day goes by in a haze. but today, bill decides will be different. today would be different. today, he plans to set his affairs in order, lay out his best suit in readiness, and take the fast route to being with audra again." or, bill does not find life worth living after his wife passes, then he starts to see hopeful light in everyday things, like his new teaching assistant.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	textbook situation

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags for trigger warnings! updates will hopefully come weekly. visit me on tumblr! @denbroughbill and thank you @peachywasteland for beta reading

_“i am standing upon the seashore. a ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. she is an object of beauty and strength. i stand and watch her until at length- she hangs like a speck of white cloud, just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other. then, someone at my side says; “there, she is gone!”_

_“gone where?” gone from my sight. that is all. she is just as large in mast and hell and spar as she was when she left my side, and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port. her diminished size is in me, not in her. and just at the moment when someone at my side says, “there, she is gone!” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout; “here she comes!” and that is dying.”_

a poem by henry van dyke.

♡ 

william denbrough awakes in the morning once again, six hundred and ninety two days after his wife, audra’s, passing. he was never the kind to wake and greet the morning with a smile, as she was. his eyes shoot open, blinded by daylight sun, his heart races, and lungs expand. everyday has been the same for almost two years and counting; at first there are dreams, then the sense of welcoming a new day, the anticipation of whatever comes has been stolen from him some time ago.

dreams of the sight are haunting him, replaying in his head, torturing him. the sight of audra lying on the floor with her arms pointing outwardly. her eyes shut, her chest still, not a movement to be seen. panic had engulfed bill, immobile by fear, but somehow managed to drop to his knees and reach over her limp body. he pressed his ear against her chest. her heart was still beating, slowly, drawn out, and her chest lain warm below the touch of his hand. 

his knees and back ached as he kneeled next to his wife in the back of the ambulance. the sirens rampaged above him, seething through his ears as he blocked them out. sweat trickled down bill's forehead, making way to his warm face. his eyes glistened with tears, but none fell. 

audra passed from cardiac arrest in the hospital.

his brother passed when he was young, his parents passed weeks apart from each other in his thirties; he was alone now; alone not just physically in the house and his bed; cold on the side that was audra’s, but alone in the fact he is at a time of his life that he is just a “checking in” call.

audra’s funeral took place in her birth place of england. the rain fell lightly as they slowly lowered the coffin into the ground. standing next to the open grave, his hitching breath came out in freezing puffs in the cold air. stanley gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

his heart beats fast and there is a buzzing static in his brain as he stares at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath, to allow the visions of the night to give way to the day. the nightmare is more of a night terror, as he feels as though he’ll die from the pressure in his brain, and the ache in his heart. the chest spasms have become routine; like he’s awaken for the first time and realizing she’s not by his side, and after them, he feels relief. it’s like getting over a bad cramp. he takes one long, deep breath of air, another confirmation of his living even if he did not want to be.

every day since audra’s passing is a struggle. now each morning is a heavy weight of grief, waking up to the silence of an empty house weighed down by memories of sixteen perfect years. every day goes by in a haze. but today, bill decided will be different. today would be different. today, he plans to set his affairs in order, lay out his best suit in readiness, and take the fast route to being with audra again.

the house phone is already ringing early morning with a check in call, and the ringing echoes through the empty corridors. the house has been empty and silent for two years, but the phone covers bird songs and it covers the thoughts bill have managed to conquer this early; his mind still racing, and it covers up the faint sound of audra’s voice lingering this early, probably arguing over the phone with her talent agent. but now, the house is empty and the ringing from the phone this early before his coffee maker is a constant reminder of how alone he truly is.

answering the phone is the first thing he does after begrudgingly dragging himself out of bed.

“good morning, eddie.” it’s a smart guess at who’s on the other end, considering stan called yesterday and it seems his friends like to take turns checking in.

his voice must still sound groggy and drenched in sleep, because eddie responds, “oh, i’m sorry. i’m not calling to early, am i?”

bill clears his throat, and lies. “no, of course not.”

eddie chirps delightfully on the other end. “do you want to come over tonight for dinner?”

bill says yes, almost immediately, seeming like a default answer. if he says anything else, eddie would worry, and bill hates that people are still worrying. when they were kids, bill was fearless and valiant, and would watch over eddie as closely as he would his own brother. the fact they are aging and the roles are reversing drives bill absolutely mad. 

after the phone call, he makes his way to the bathroom to make himself presentable for the day. turning morning bill into professor denbrough requires coffee and clothing; a process of subtle alchemy combining the effects of caffeine and tailoring to produce the neatly turned out figure who orders his papers into his leather briefcase. he can disguise his voice on the phone, but physically he looked terrible. the secretaries and other professors on campus make note of what bill has become; a sunken face of an empty man that he sees in the bathroom mirror, and keep asking if he’s getting enough sleep. his auburn hair as darken with age to a brown with a gray streak peeking through, his depression making him incapable of continuing to dye it as he always has, graying early in college.

audra was a beautiful actress and model, staring in his some of novel to film adaptations. a work relationship that turned personal and romantic, a relationship that worked into something important to bill and has left him rotting. she had olive skin and dark brown feathery soft hair. she looked pretty in magazines, in movie posters, on screen, and at home, when she didn’t have her face on and jokingly argued with bill to stop complimenting her. she looked pretty when she patted his face clean of any stray hairs and shaving cream left on his jaw, he could almost picture her in the mirror.

his heart aches, causing enough pain for him to topple forward. he mutters a brief animal grunt, gripping the sink with white knuckles.

then bill continues with his morning. he finishes shaving, he showers, he brushes his hair, he dresses. he drinks his morning coffee with hazelnut creamer and a sugar packet, he eats a cream cheese and salmon bagel while watching the morning news. he does everything the same but quite different— there is no sleeping in ten minutes later with his cold nose in the warm crook of audra’s neck. no squeezing past each other in the narrow kitchen, a hand on her hip and a “excuse me” in her ear as he brushes against her to reach for his coffee mug. but there is coffee, and the sun is still somehow shining.

bill closes the curtains as he moves from the dining room to his office.

the idea of him dying appears one night when stan, and his wife, patricia, were drunkenly rambling about something at dinner. they invite him over; bill feels as though it’s because they worry about him all alone, but patty is a good cook, and they’re good company, so he accepts. they all get drunk, and they ramble while he feels the absence of audra in the dining room chair next to him, and he thinks, perhaps, dying would be simpler. naturally, he realizes it’s an absurd, unhealthy thought, but nevertheless, the seed is planted. he smiles and shakes his head when stan asks him if something’s wrong, then patty mirrors the smile and excuses herself from the dinner table to grab dessert. but the thought comes back when he’s sober, and he seriously contemplates it.

bill has been working on paperwork quietly and unsuspectingly behind the scenes as he goes through out the years, getting things in order. his students might assume he’s grading papers or playing sudoku, but he’s applying final touches to his letter of intent. he files personal and financial records in his down time, and writes his own obituary. he does this all matter of factly with no emotions involved, as his last living wish is to being with audra; he probably should have things in order for when he passes. he sets these papers out on his wooden desk neatly and precisely, along with the suit he plans on being buried in.

he adjusts his jacket during a once over in the mirror in the hall before heading out. bill slicks any stray hairs back in place, the gold wedding band still on his finger stands out against his dark hair. an intrusive thought enter his mind; what if he just ended things right now? the morbid thought makes him chuckle softly, but it lingers. 

sometimes he holds the clunk of cold metal just to get a feel for it, how he should position it against his temple or in his mouth. the strong early light shining strongly from the steel barrel of the revolver urges him to pack it with the rest of his belongings in his leather suitcase, so he does.

the weather is cool and the morning sun is bright, but tiredness remains like a gray, cold veil over bill’s skin as he walks to his car. it sits like november rain on his skin, enough to chill what was once warm inside. at the beginning, he would have just called stan, or eddie, hell, even speak to a fellow professor like mike, and ask for the warmth he needed to ward it off, just a little is enough. as time passes, he just lets it come, drop by drop and now an ocean falls upon him instead of rain, that the grief of years he carefully suspended has all condensed right above his head into a cloud large enough to block the sun.

beverly marsh smiles at him from across the street, waving excitedly. they live in a clean, well off neighborhood; beverly, a fashion designer and her husband, ben, an architect. she stands from where she was kneeling in the garden, and wipes grass and dirt from her knees. bill has spoken to her, and ben, several times in the last ten years they’ve lived here— he’s lived here, but can only remember one conversation. he had to cancel some renovations and remodeling with ben and his contractors and carpenters after audra’s passing. everything since has sounded as if it were spoken under water.

“good morning, bill!” she calls out, waving her gardening gloves in the air to catch his attention. her auburn hair curls around her ears and jaw, and her freckles have become more prominent, bill can notice even from across the street.

he easily forces a smile and waves back before getting into the driver seat.

there are a couple of days before the start of this new grueling semester, so he’s came to get his paperwork in order for whoever takes over this class when he’s gone. normally he would spend time in his office marking his students' most recent essays. the essays are normally an accurate reflection of the general ability of the class— that is to say, the bulk of them are average, flanked by a few outliers at either end of the spectrum. he used to keep a mental note of the shockers, storing them up greedily to be dispensed later for audra’s viewing pleasures. for each one she thinks of a particularly cutting little remark as he draws circles around grievous misspellings and isolates idiot phrases and wobbly arguments with stern little parentheses, each stroke of the red pen a placeholder for audra’s amusement. 

bill would like to think his class wasn’t difficult. it was only ap literature, and a short course of a few months. the class is a requirement, and split in terms of kids who want to participate and those who just want the credits. he’s only taught this class for three years, but every year it’s obvious who really cares and who doesn’t. his ratemyprofessors reviews were mostly positive, and his hotness rating was through the roof, and that always made audra giggle and tease him.

he’s staring out the small office window at nothing in particular, dazing out with nothing on his mind. he has a look of extreme melancholy on his face, and his shoulders are slumped. the coffee from the lounge is beginning to go cold, not that he wanted it anyways; more following the social norm of saying good morning to the other professors and picking up a cup before retreating. 

a knock at the door alarms him. he sits up, blinking and clears his throat, adjusting his appearance. 

his secretary is at his office door with a young man. he is tall with very broad stooped shoulders, a dark mass of curly hair, blue large eyes. he would be conventionally handsome if he wasn’t wearing huge glasses, but it looks as though he really needs them; bill can tell they are thick and the prescription is strong. it was as if god had adjusted the color of the world when he walks through the door, ducking ever so slightly to maneuver under the doorframe, like it was as easy as twisting a television dial. everything was brighter than it should’ve been; the young man’s white crooked teeth smile blinding, the red of his button down not just red but radiant hues that burned.

it’s only after he invites the boy into his office to sit that he has forgotten, or rather did not hear or care to listen to his secretary introduce him. bill apologizes, waving him into the cramped office, a tiny desk and computer pushed against the back wall window, the other two walls taken up by bookshelves, even then there’s not enough space for all the books and folders. bill has to get his mind working and gears turning again, and somehow maneuvers a stack of papers and textbooks away from the edge of his desk and invites the young man to sit in the spare chair before squeezing himself around the books to sit behind the computer. it feels like it should be a tense few moments of getting settled, but it’s not. the boy’s preoccupied enough reading all the spines of books to his left. 

“impressive collection, sir,” he notes casually.

bill huffs as he sits back down, readjusting his posture. he mutters an apology and the boy smiles softly. bill raps his middle finger against the wood of his desk and tucks his other fist under his chin, scuffing his knuckles on the stumble already growing from this morning’s shave. there is silence between the two for a while, but not awkward. nevertheless, the guest speaks up first after clearing his throat.

he holds up a folder with a chuckle, the manila folder looks a lot smaller in his hand. “i, uh, brought a résumé, if you wanted to see it. but it looks like it might get lost in with all the other folders.”

bill licks his lips, as if he’s trying to stop himself from laughing. not at this man’s smart joke, but he remembers now agreeing with mike that, yes, maybe a teacher’s assistant would be a good idea, and that clears up the confusion on why he was in his office. it seems he doesn’t wonder about what’s so funny, or at least doesn’t ask about it.

his résumé states his name is richard tozier, and almost immediately, as if he knew bill had just read that, richard says he would prefer to be called richie. it also includes an impressive 4.0 GPA for his undergrad.

bill looks over the folder with nothing in particular in mind, not that his decision will matter in the days to come, but he makes a noise in the back of his throat as he pretends to study the résumé. richie’s beaming confidence disappears for a second as bill bullshits caring, he adjusts his posture and squirms in his seat as if there is somewhere for his long limbs to sit comfortably. this makes bill laugh inwardly. 

he closes the folder. “so, we have two classes, both mondays and wednesdays. one is ten-fourty, and the second is three-thirty. i’m always late for my classes, and usually kids respect that but sometimes the freshman try to take advantage of it. so try to be on time, even if i’m not.”

he pauses, “in all honesty, i have no idea what your duties are other than that. you’ll probably help lead discussions, and then outside of the classroom, grade papers with me.”

richie grins, nodding furiously, then pushes his glasses up his nose with his index finger. he shakes bill’s hand, the grip so firm it surprises bill, and shakes it for what seems like an eternity; bill’s hand feels a though it’ll go numb under the tight grip and seconds pass on the clock. he nods, curls bouncing as he thanks bill again and again and again.

bill laughs, almost genuine and he sits back in his office chair; satisfied he’s completed this task so he can move onto more important things. “so, you want to be a professor?”

“honestly? well, sort of,” richie rises from his chair just slightly to grab something from his back pocket, smile never leaving his face but growing smaller, turning softer and shy. it’s a worn copy of bill’s _the glowing_. he watches his rather large hands wrap around the book and curl the paperback in on itself. 

he blinks up at bill through his lashes, through his glasses, through the loose curls that hang in front of his face. “if i’m going to be TA, i’d like to be yours. i’m a big fan, sir.”

bill feels flattered. he can’t resist slipping into the role richie so temptingly offers him. 

there’s probably some rule in the teacher handbook about this; hiring an assistant purely because he’s complimenting you.

“i have a sharpie around here somewhere, if you’d like me to sign it.” 

richie covers his eyes with one hand and leans back, mouth open in a laugh. “no, sir, that’s okay. i appreciate it though, thank you.”

with no more further questions, they shake hands and richie leaves his office feeling different than it did when he entered. nevermind that, bill has to get back to work. he starts cleaning up his office. he arranges the insides of his drawers and throws things into the garbage can. it is all immaculate by the time he is finished. his desk is completely different than when richie arrived, it’s now absolutely bare with the exception of three file folders carefully labeled and laid out precisely on his desk top. 

bill calls eddie after he turns off the office light and closes the door behind him. he cradles a box of books and files with his phone between his ear and shoulder. fall has arrived with a buoyant lack of subtly and the breeze has a way of moving through his hair as he makes his way through a sea of students and faculty, like a salmon swimming up stream. as he waits for eddie to answer the phone, he wonders what they’ll talk about over dinner. eddie kaspsbrak is newly divorced and his chauffeur company is booming, he should have a lot to talk about.

“what do you want to eat, big bill?” is how he greets him on the phone, the childhood nickname makes bill chuckle under his breath. he compliments the past meals he’s cooked and tells him he’s sure anything he makes will be great, and he can hear eddie smile over the phone. a few files fall off the top of the box as he struggles to put it in the backseat of his car, and he tells eddie he’ll call him back.

“you going somewhere?” the voice of professor mike hanlon asks behind him. bill whips his head around to find his colleague standing there with the folders that fell in the parking lot, and a young woman besides him. bill thanks him and reaches to retrieve the files, but mike pulls his arm back.

“you’re not skipping town on me, are you, bill? who’s going to help me deal with these kids?” mike teases before handing over the folders. the sun rays wash over him and leave him a golden brown— the same color as his eyes, and a dazzling smile reveals the bronze glow at his cheeks. bill takes in every detail, taking in his beauty; something he’s never noticed until just now. the background even looks different, trees of autum berry red and brassy gold colors he hasn’t seen before.

bill looks him dead in the eyes. “you look good today, mike.”

mike laughs something hearty, the sound coming from his gut. with a soft smile, he says, “and you look tired.”

mike introduces the lady beside him as sandy, his teacher assistant. she has dark hair pulled back, stray, curly hairs frame her round, young face. 

bill nods and introduces himself without shaking her hand, then, trying his best not to rush or sound rude, he excuses himself and tells them he must go.

he sits in silence. the radio isn’t on, he doesn’t turn on the car and let the car engine run. the silence caresses his skin like a cool autumn breeze, smoothing his soul, taking away his jagged edges. it has been one hell of a day. he rests his head against the seat, the image of audra dances behind his closed eyes, and he wonders if this is how dying would be like; dark and silent. he drinks in the silence through every pore, soothed by its meditative quality, blooding pumping fast and hard. he slides a calloused hand across the leather seats, subconsciously but fully aware he is reaching for the gun in his suitcase. he gasps softly, the cold metal on his fingertips shocking him just slightly before wrapping his fingers around the handle.

then there’s a knock on the window. 

bill quickly closes the suitcase, the loud slam shut snaps him back to reality. he tries to catch his breath, irritated and disrupted, fully prepared to tell mike he must really get going. 

but it’s richard tozier at the window.

“yes, richie?” he asks in the same voice he uses when a student has a question.

richie smiles, and bill can see how it came from deep inside to light his eyes and spread into every part of him. he holds up his worn copy of _the glowing_ in one hand, and a sharpie in the other. “i thought i’d take you up on that offer.”

bill laughs inwardly, air escaping his nostrils. he keeps his mouth closed and says nothing as he takes the sharpie from him and flips the front cover. he wonders if richie knows somehow about his plans and if he plans on selling this recently autographed book on e-bay weeks after the deed is done. he’s so deep in thought, richie repeats his question.

“are you going somewhere, sir?”

bill hums, not looking up from scrawling his signature.

“i saw you cleaning out your office.”

“yes.” bill says truthful and lies at the same time easily, so much so that it surprises him, like he hasn’t been doing it since audra’s death. he smiles tight lipped and as he turns to hand the book and marker back, he comes face to face with richie leaning on the open window frame with his arms crossed. richie pulls away from the window and straightens his posture after taking the book back, his eyebrows raise as if he’s waiting for him to go into further detail, but bill doesn’t say anything else about it.

“i’ll email you the syllabus. i’ll see you on monday, richie.” he pulls out of the parking lot after sticking the key in the ignition, leaving richie wanting more.

beverly must have finished her gardening because the hanscom-marsh lawn is pristine, and the flower beds immaculate when bill arrives home. the house is cold and uninviting even though it’s his; maybe home is truly where your heart is and this house hasn’t been bill’s in little over a year. authors for years have written similes and metaphors about death and dying, but put simply, death is something any healthy person wants to avoid, and it’s also something a healthy person will accept under certain circumstances.

the house keeps quiet for him; nothing creaks or squeaks or groans under his weight. the sun is lower, setting in the evening, just past full and blazing gold straight through its glass. everything inside is etched in light, corners and edges sharpest. bill stands where the sun streams through brightest, contemplating, and looks at the sun as if he wishes he were naïve enough to press it for answers. he and audra have kissed at this window, in the sun, with this house and the oaks bearing witness.

bill drags his feet across the floor to his office desk. the top is covered in a precise arrangement of letters, bills, house deeds, a document marked the last will and testament of bill denbrough, and labeled keys. the other end of the desk is dominated by the outfit bill assembled earlier, it is now laid out with the shirt and tie inserted in the jacket. he sets the suitcase on top of everything and takes out the gun. 

he checks the chamber, empty, and then cocks the gun to pull a round up into the chamber. it was definitely loaded now. he thumbs the safety off.

he turns the gun around slowly, until he’s staring down the barrel, holding the grip backwards with both hands. the gun is a comforting weight in his hands, it is the only thing he could feel. bill opens his mouth, slowly, and raises the gun closer until it’s resting on his tongue. the cold weight of the barrel would have made him gag on its own the first time around he tried this, but the taste of gunpowder makes him gag worse, something he hasn't gotten used to. he pulls the gun away, and coughs until the sensation fades. gunpowder still burns, acrid, on his tongue.

he thinks about how audra was against bringing a piece into the house and asked what’s wrong with their security system.

bill brings the gun back to his mouth and carefully wraps his lips around it, pointing the barrel up just enough that it wasn't weighing his tongue down, though he still can’t escape the taste and feel of the cold metal between his teeth. up may be better anyway, better chance of hitting something critical in the brain than aiming straight back at the smaller target that was the brain stem. his pointer finger won’t work at this angle, the trigger needs to be pulled away from his face. he feels for the trigger with his thumb, holding the gun steady with his other hand, and slides his thumb inside the guard.

his mind is worryingly empty, and his stomach is nauseous. it’s locked up tight, nothing getting in or out, and his face sets like rigor mortis. he must be cold because his hand is trembling, all of him is trembling. there’s a bead of sweat drip down his temple as he wraps the fingers of his trigger hand back around the grip, for stability and leverage. he takes a deep breath, as much as he can around the gun. as he lets it out,

the phone rings— doesn’t eddie have perfect timing?

bill freezes for a moment, contemplating if he should answer it or not, then he sighs as he remembers. he sits the gun down on the desk in the same way he’d lay a book open flat when he has plans to continue reading and he has no bookmark, like he’ll come right back.

the phone rings three times more before he answers. “i’ll see you soon, eddie.” 

bill sighs loudly enough it seems to echo throughout the house, and the echo leads him to his bedroom to change into something more comfortable. he splashes cold water on his face, slapping his cheeks to snap him out of it and forces a smile. but it’s not a true smile, his teeth are gritted together and it looks as though he’s gone mad. it’s not convincing so he drops it and lets his mouth lay flat.

he pleads to his reflection: “get it together, bill.”

and so he pulls himself together, for the sake of eddie. on the ride there, he thinks of how all throughout childhood, eddie had always proudly told anyone who would listen that he would die for bill. it made him uneasy and a little embarrassed, but flattered nonetheless that someone cares for him that much. but, just aswell it made him think much how you had to care about someone just _that much_ to be willing to give up your own life, and he now believes he feels the same way about audra.

eddie would die for bill to live, isn’t that funny?

eddie clings to bill’s side from the moment he walks him from his car, he even pulls a chair out for bill. the dining room is elegant in a minimalist way, and the huge mahogany table takes up most of the space. there’s polished silver cutlery and tall wine glasses, and eddie sets a full plate of food in front of him with a glistening smile

bill tries to keep his mouth food to avoid having to speak. he nods when eddie does talk, but for most of dinner, eddie prompts him to talk. and bill dismisses the idea with a wave of a hand and swears he doesn’t have much to talk about as nothing’s really been going on later. he rests a hand on bill’s once he puts his fork down.

“i’m worried about you, bill.” eddie says with a somber smile, curling higher in one corner of his mouth. he grew up with an overbearing mother and ended up marrying (and divorcing) a women just like her, bill knows voicing any concern kills eddie inside; afraid to sound like either one of them. here he is, dying for bill…

bill puts on an obviously fake smile, so wide on his face that his eyes start to close, and eddie frowns playfully and starts to pull away. but bill grips eddie’s hand before he can, in a firm grip but not interlaced. 

eddie looks up from their hands on the table at bill like he’s put the stars in the sky, eyes hooded, high off of oxytocin or dopamine; one of those chemicals that gives you that warm and fuzzy, safe, belonging, wonderful, gushy feeling. bill feels it too as he takes a deep, sighing exhale with his eyes closed far too long for a blink. he keeps his eyes shut, breathing steady, and the backs of his eyelids become a kaleidoscope of blurring colors from having eddie’s hand in his— reds bursting into blues, blues blooming into magentas, magentas blossoming into purples, into yellows and greens.

when bill blinks open, eddie’s blue grey eyes are more intense and vivid, scanning over bill’s face with a confused or perhaps worried smile, his teeth dazzling white.

“can you get me another glass, eddie?” bill asks.

and eddie’s smile turns into something devilish at the thought of more wine. he pats the top of bill’s hand with his free one before pulling both of them away. “apple-solutely!”

as he watches eddie take their empty glasses to the kitchen for a refill, bill thinks maybe it’s better to have a friend to walk in the dark with, than walking in the light alone. he thinks about it when eddie walks him out later that night, the both of them tipsy and bill easily supports eddie with one arm, him being the lighter weight when he comes to drinking. he thinks about it when he attempts to bring the gun to his mouth again, but he can’t.

bill sighs, feeling a mixture of uneasy, defeated, ashamed, and conflicted, thinks he can do this some other day.

he’s on his bed this time when the attempt fails, and reaches towards his beside drawer to store the gun away. as he does this, his arm goes numb— he canʼt use his hand. bill tries again, a sweat forming where his brow creases and then grabs onto his wrist with his other hand, as if he can force his hand closer to grab the handle and open the drawer. there’s a pain in his chest like he’s been experiencing for months, but ten times sharper. his body collapses to the floor, his breathing becoming shaky, more slow, and his face contorts with panic and disbelief as he realizes he’s having a heart attack.


End file.
